


AU:TV/Movie (Westworld)

by Agib



Series: Irondad Bingo! [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: AU:TV/Movie, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Westworld, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dehumanization, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad Bingo 2019, Kinda? Does it count if they actually aren't technically humans?, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Westworld - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-11-27 05:02:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20942690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agib/pseuds/Agib
Summary: An angsty Westworld AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here's some warnings just in case: (Spoiler Alerts for Below)
> 
> There's some low-key dehumanization sprinkled throughout but I don't really know if it counts because technically they're hosts, not people?
> 
> Um, it's not ever mentioned at all but you could choose to interpret some descriptions of how psychotic and evil guests are as implied non-con but it's never outwardly stated, so I didn't think it needed to be tagged as such, but the warning is here just in case <3
> 
> Major character death except the entire premise of the fic is that death isn't permanent, they wake up every time they're killed - they've literally been killed thousands of times before! (That's why I didn't tag it as major character death, it's not permanent).
> 
> It's set sometime in the early/mid 1900's, or at least Tony and Peter's world is, but it takes place in the present (I know it's confusing pls just bear with me).
> 
> *I'll explain the premise more in the end notes for anyone who's royally lost*

_Something was created to keep you sane, Tony. He was crafted for you, and you alone. His purpose was to aid you, never forget that._

\----

Sunlight shed across the scuffed floorboards and Tony groaned as he blinked his eyes against the heavy assault of light dancing across his face. He had dreamt of something… nothing had stuck, save for the remnants of a comfortable weight against his chest, the brush of something soft beneath his chin.

“Sir? Your assistant has requested I wake you for meal service.” The voice was accompanied by quiet knocks against his door. Tony sighed, shifting beneath his quilt unhappily as he rubbed the heel of his palm across his eyes.

“Would she not have patience for my always graceful entrance?” He called back with a resounding smirk. Jarvis didn’t reply for a stretch before speaking up, sounding further down the hall.

“She seems to be steadfast today, Sir. You have papers to sign.” Tony groaned as he pulled on a thin pair of socks, ran a hand through his hair and stood to make his way down to the kitchenette.

“Tony,” Pepper said immediately, her lips pressed together in a line. “If I could have a signature, so I can seal this off and send it out to the buyers, fax it to some potentials, that would be great.” Tony sat, folding his arms across his chest and pinching his own brows in an effort to look as though he were considering the request.

“Are we really in that difficult of a situation?” He argued dismissively. “I mean, we aren’t yet at the point of desperately scrabbling for people to invest. The last thing Oscorp produced that even came _close_ to matching our sales was the radio broadcasting, and that was years ago.” Tony leaned in as Pepper did, wincing as she shuffled the papers against the wood table top. “Can’t I at least wait for my coffee to cool –”

“Word has it that he’s working on more affordable motor cars, Tony. That may very well put you out of business if he succeeds.” Pepper looked serious, and as Tony scoffed loudly, she looked more than unimpressed.

“I’d be a louse if I spared a single worry for Oscorp’s tech, wouldn’t I?” Pepper slid the papers across to him despite the disgruntled noise Tony made, frowning slightly as a pen slid his way too.

“It still wouldn’t hurt,” she insisted. Tony grumbled something as he smeared his signature across the dotted line and pushed the page back to his assistant almost petulantly. “This isn’t admitting defeat, you know. It’s just the logical decision to make if you want to expand the company. It’s not desperate to seek out consumers.”

“At least we get to pick and choose who we want,” he said casually over the mug of coffee he held against his lips. Pepper nodded, flicking her eyes over the messy scrawl of Tony’s signature.

“Yes well, you seem to have a knack for finding the best of the bunch.” She nodded knowingly, her eyes softening when Tony looked down at the table. “Speaking of,” she began, “where’s that little street-urchin you scooped up?” The term sounded almost endearing when Pepper used it, much like she held sympathy, but coming from anyone else’s mouth, Tony might’ve just thrown his coffee at them.

“Around here somewhere I’d hope,” he answered a little sheepishly. Tony was impulsive and he fully recognised the fact, but finding his own apprentice on the streets? That put him on another level entirely.

_“Where’s your home? You can ride there in my carriage, no use walking in the rain, lest you aspire to have sodden shoes.”_

_“I – I am home, Sir. There aren’t many options for a throwaway like me, as they say.”_

Tony looked up, blinking once to see Pepper had risen from the table, the papers already tucked away beneath her arm.

“Well, never mind your hesitance now, Tony. You have the chance to change that boy’s life. Don’t turn away from that,” she advised, smiling encouragingly as she left the dining table. Tony rubbed his cheek tiredly, finishing off his coffee and slowly rising to stretch his arms, relishing in the crackle of his joints.

“Mr. Stark, Sir! Mr. Stark!”

Tony jolted at the sudden sign of company, a hand resting over his chest in a mockery of fright. He spun to see nothing until he lowered his eyes enough to see the small teen rocking on his heels before him. “Good morning, Mr. Stark,” he greeted with enthusiasm Tony believed nobody in their right mind should possess this early in the morning.

“Ah, the vagabond of the year,” he laughed not unkindly, a hand coming to fix the collar of the scruffy shirt that hung loose over the boy’s narrow shoulders. “How’re we today? Live-wired as always?” Tony prodded the boy as he walked from the kitchen, smiling to himself as he heard the scuffle of worn shoes hurrying after him.

“O – of course! Always, Sir.” The boy fixed Tony with a wide grin, his mildly sun-freckled cheeks stretching wide.

“You’re plucky for a waif,” Tony teased, unlocking the door to his study. “Especially one that looks to have been up for a fair while?” He raises an eyebrow and throws it over his shoulder, glancing back to where the boy is playing with the loose seams of his tattered gloves.

“Well, I uhm, y – you see Sir, I – I…” he coughs once, rubbing his sleeve across his nose which Tony could always remember turned pink from the cold. “You know Mr. Stane would have my head on a pike if I didn’t have my chores done. I didn’t want to hold you up from your work either, so… y – yeah.”

Tony softened at the thought of Peter waking himself up at the crack of dawn just to finish his chores and have more time to spend with him, but he also tensed at the cruel reminder. Obadiah had told both him and the boy that if Peter was going to stay, he’d have to do more than simple apprentice duties.

“You know you don’t really have to do those, kiddo.” Tony turned over his shoulder to look at Peter, “we both can.” He shrugged, trying to stay as laid back as possible. “Or, y’know Jarvis isn’t paid a fortune for nothing.” Peter shook his head, a few untamed curls bouncing loose from where they’d been pushed back behind his ears.

“You found me in an alleyway Mr. Stark. You didn’t know anything about me except that I knew my way around a toolset.” The sad look Tony often noted appeared in the back of Peter’s eyes as he spoke, like it pained him to recount these things. “And now I work here, with you – for you and Mr. Stane – and I can’t just… scrounge around and leach off you, Sir. I can pull my weight,” he said, quieter than before. “I’m happy to,” he finished, trying to perk up, but failing quite miserably.

Tony looked at his workbench and shifted a stack of books to the side, gesturing for the boy to sit. He took a breath, sighing heavily before he responded.

“I want you to help me, Peter,” he said firmly. “I want you and I to make something revolutionary. I know we can, I’m sure of it.” The young teen sat down gingerly on the chair beside Tony, his eyes brightening in interest. “We might need help, we’ll probably need time too, but eventually, one of these days… we’re going to do something big. Together.”

“I – I’d like that, Mr. Stark. I really would.”

_“Sir, we did it! I – I can’t believe it, I never dreamed of this!”_

_“Do you have any idea what this means, kid? We can do so much with this, you won’t believe the life you’re gonna be able to have!”_

“Mr. Stark, are you okay? You’ve been acting oddly all morning… are you having an idea for something to make?” Tony swallowed thickly, shaking his head as if to rid the voices dripping inside of it.

“Yeah, good as new,” he murmured unconvincingly. His heart was thundering but he didn’t have the faintest of clues as to why. Hearing voices and wandering around his home with an ever-present sense of déjà vu was out of the ordinary. Tony had assumed the muddy feeling of panic sitting raw in his chest was normal too, but perhaps not.

“Would you like me to put the kettle on, Sir? It’ll help, I’m sure of it.” Peter’s voice wavered, like he was nervous, as if he didn’t know what to say or do. Things were unfamiliar.

Things were familiar.

“Uh, I’m alright kid. Thanks though.” Tony ran a hand through his hair, biting the inside of his cheek and shifting back to focus on the stack of messy and unorganized blueprints strewed across his desk. “I should be filling that head with smarts, shouldn’t I?” He joked weakly, ruffling the boy’s hair in hopes of a fond distraction.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whined, pushing his hand away with a bubble of laughter. “As if I’m not smart enough already,” he said cheekily.

“Careful there, don’t turn into a wisenheimer,” Tony taunted. “Although I’m one to talk, huh.” Peter rolled his eyes, sifting through the piles of old and mostly useless designs for things that neither of them believed could be massively relevant. “Obi tries, Peter. He does.” Tony tightened his fingers around the column of blueprints.

“I know, Sir.” Peter assured “I trust who you do,” he said flatly, nodding once and silently allowing Tony to pull the conversation back to familiar territory.

“You haven’t been sweeping chimney’s though?” Tony continued. “They passed laws about that back in thirty-four,” he muttered.

“Any particular reason you’re giving me the third degree, Mr. Stark?” Peter smirked, watching the older man shrug distantly.

“Maybe I’m worried, maybe I just don’t enjoy partaking in combing the streets for a kid with half the brain you do.” Tony tilted his head to the side, raising an eyebrow like a challenge.

“Okay, I’ll desist,” the boy laughed. “I saw some travellers near the manor,” he began, gesturing to the large bay window. “They looked as if they’d be visiting, but they rode on after a while.”

Tony bit back a shudder as cold rushed through his veins. He knew they’d been raided before, could feel it deep in his chest where fear and instinctual horror resided. But they hadn’t, Tony was sure of it, he would remember if people had broken into his home, hurt the people he loved.

_Please, please god don’t hurt him. They were going to hurt him, the only one he had left. Not Peter. Never him._

“Sir? Are you okay? You drifted off again…” Peter scooted forward until his ratty, oversized boots knocked against Tony’s. “Should we sit?” A small hand tugged the edges of Tony’s hand tailored suit. “You look awfully pale, Mr. Stark.”

“No, no. I’m alright, I’m fine. Don’t be daft, kiddo.” He brushed Peter’s hand away, opting to squeeze his shoulder with a reassuring smile. “Let’s get to work,” he continued.

“What about some sort of flight machine, Sir?” Tony laughed at that, setting himself down in a chair and looking at the wide-eyed boy with fake indignation. “But individualised, for personal use, surely that would revolutionise the way we get from place to place,” Peter continued.

“Yes, while we’re at it I may as well make a suit with wings attached on either side, shouldn’t I?” Tony earned himself a whack over the arm and a disgruntled huff from beside him.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter droned. “Don’t make a fool of me! You’ve always said to dream large, what’s wrong with that?” Tony pulled a face at the teen, watching him swing from side to side on his chair. “Imagine if everyone could fly, Sir!”

“We’d certainly never be late again,” he laughed. “But individualised flight machines would put the business far ahead of the market…” Tony frowned, thinking hard about something. “I’ll consider it, but for now we should stick to vehicle motors, try to increase the durability of them.” Peter nodded eagerly, happy to proceed cross-legged on the floor as Tony wheeled himself beneath the base of a motor vehicle and held his hand out as the young teen placed tools in his hands and talked the day away.

In the evening, Peter resided to his own room, waving goodnight to Tony who smiled fondly and brewed himself more caffeine despite his plans to sleep.

\----

_Horrible memories of dark places that nobody should know. Metal twisted and sharpened to tear him apart from the inside out. Screaming from the fields and the streets, a small hand being torn from his own._

_Tears that Tony had never wanted to see fall, hitting the sidewalk and cobblestone to match gut-wrenching shrieks._

_Hands on his shoulders and water in his lungs, his sinuses._

_Screaming and yelling, men in masks and tentacle-riddled skulls tearing at his flesh, pulling wires from the base of his neck as somebody else’s blood coated his hands. Hands which had held and loved so strongly._

_Cold, dark, blue and grey. Metal benches and glass walled prisons where he was put back together again. Bodies and bodies and piles upon piles of bodies. Mechanical parts, cogs and wires, he wasn’t real._

_They weren’t real. They were never real._

_He truly had no heart._

\----

Tony woke with bright light spilling across his eyelids and the remnant, dream-crusted memory of something rested against his torso, fluff beneath his chin. 

A knock from the outside of his door jolted him into full wakefulness and Tony winced against the headache called déjà vu. 

“Sir? Your assistant has requested I wake you for meal service.” Jarvis knocked once more before going quiet, waiting for a response.

“Can’t she wait?” He called back tiredly. There was no reply for a minute, and Tony felt like he knew the words when they eventually did respond.

“She seems to be steadfast today, Sir. You have papers to sign.” Jarvis left him on his own, trusting him to get dressed and ready for the upcoming day. Tony spent his time yawning and rubbing at his eyes. He felt as if he did the same every day.

“Tony,” Pepper said as he finally made his way to the kitchenette. She looked unamused. “If I could have a signature, so I can seal this off and send it out to the buyers, fax it to some potentials, that would be great.” Tony sat, folding his arms across his chest and groaning as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Haven’t we been through this dance before? What’s the point in caving in when we have enough consumers already?” He grumbled, but signed the dotted line, nonetheless.

“Word has it that Oscorp is working on more affordable motor cars, Tony. That may very well put you out of business if he succeeds.” Pepper tapped her pages together, nodding at him once in thanks for his signature. “This isn’t admitting defeat, you know. It’s just the logical decision to make if you want to expand the company. It’s not desperate to seek out consumers.” Tony hummed, focusing on his mug of coffee and dragging his fingertips across the table top.

A silence hung between them, Pepper was busied with her papers and Tony was deadest on drinking from his mug without much mirth. 

“Where’s that little street-urchin you scooped up?” Pepper asked eventually.

“Around here somewhere I’d hope,” he shrugged. “Kid’s always bustling around the manor,” he pointed out.

“You have the chance to change that boy’s life,” Pepper said, standing quietly. “Don’t turn away from that.” Tony nodded, pushing his mug aside and resting his head in his hands as Pepper’s heels clicked further away from the dining room.

“Mr. Stark, Sir! Mr. Stark!”

Tony didn’t startle as footsteps squeaked over floorboards and the excited greeting echoed throughout the room. He had expected it even if he didn’t consciously realise it. “Good morning, Mr. Stark,” Peter said eagerly. Tony felt like he was a walking memory.

“Morning,” he mumbled, absentmindedly fixing the upturned collar of the boy’s shirt as he stood. Peter smiled as he trailed after Tony.

“You’re plucky for a waif,” Tony laughed, unlocking the door to his study. “Have you been up for a fair while?” He could see Peter fumbling with the hem of his clothing, almost nervously.

“Well, I uhm, y – you see Sir, I – I…” he coughs awkwardly. “You know Mr. Stane would have my head on a pike if I didn’t have my chores done. I didn’t want to hold you up from your work either, so… y – yeah.” Peter looks down to his tattered shoes, like he knew Tony didn’t like him working himself to the bone.

“You know you don’t really have to do those, kiddo. Jarvis isn’t paid a fortune for nothing.” Peter made a disgruntled sound and shook his head in defiance while Tony lowered himself into a desk chair.

“You found me in an alleyway Mr. Stark. You didn’t know anything about me except that I knew my way around a toolset… And now I work here, with you – for you and Mr. Stane – and I can’t just… scrounge aro –”

Peter was interrupted by a sharp bang from several rooms over. Tony flinched, standing from his seat quickly.

“What was th –”

“Sir?” Peter said hurriedly, his eyes wide. “I saw some travellers near the manor, but – but they looked as if they were going to ride on, I didn’t think that –”

“Where were they? How many?” Tony asked, gripping the boy’s arm and tugging him further back into the corner of the room as he closed the door, wishing he had invested in a lock. “Did they have weapons? Guns?” Peter had one hand tightened around Tony’s wrist, his face pale.

“I – I didn’t see, I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I couldn’t’ve known they would –”

Another sharp crash cut the boy off for a second time, glass shattering from somewhere down the hall. Tony felt the pit of his own stomach crumpling to the bottom of his ribcage.

“The blueprints,” Tony said quietly. His eyes widened in realisation, “the rifle’s in the living area –”

Tony untangled himself from the young teen and threw himself towards the door, not hesitating as he heard voices further down the hall. His shoes slipped on the rugs in his way, but he couldn’t slow down for anything.

“_There’s so much shit here, one of the guys from accounting mentioned the blueprints in the back rooms_.” Tony could hear people rifling through draws and cabinets in the entry way. There was no way he could lose those product design blueprints.

“_I still can’t believe they haven’t cut this storyline yet, it’s so outdated and boring. Who in their right mind would come to the park just to spend a week building some crap that’s already been invented with some hobo kid and a random old rich dude?_” There were chuckles followed by more scuffling. Tony heard the lock to the basement being jerked around.

He didn’t have enough time to stop the raiders from breaking into the basement with the rest of his prototypes and designs, but he couldn’t stop multiple men without his rifle.

“Sir – Mr. Stark, Sir please!” Peter called breathlessly as Tony ripped the rifle from its home above the mantlepiece and tore his way down the hall. His chest was pounding, and something was stirring his gut, warning him. He paid it no attention. Fear they called it, surely.

“Get the hell off my property!” He screamed, bursting into the entry hall with the gun raised. There were three men, all dressed in seemingly regular clothing. Tony trained the barrel of the gun onto the man holding the lock in one hand. Fury boiled inside of his chest, cursing anyone who thought they could uproot the life he had built himself – the life he’d provided for a kid like Peter.

Everything was a blur after that. Tony could hear yelling between the three men, one of them had a handgun tucked away in his pocket, and when it raised – it fired.

Tony knew before the trigger had even finished being pulled where the bullet would end up, he knew there wasn’t anything he could do. But that didn’t stop the fear from wrapping a cold hand around his throat and squeezing tight.

When he felt something tearing through his kneecap, he braced himself as the floor rose up to meet his back. The rifle he held clattered to the floor, blood rushed through his ears and hands gripped his wrist with a ferocity much less severe than his knee which was currently staining the rug Pepper had picked out.

“Sir, please – _please_ Sir…” Peter sounded terrified, his hands tightened around Tony’s wrist and tears welled in his eyes.

“_Oh, for fuck’s sake Gerald, nice going. You made a kid cry, good job_.”

Tony felt gentle hands pressing against his sternum, another wrapping around his hand and squeezing closely.

“Y – you gotta stay still, Sir. It’s g – gonna be okay. J – Jarvis can patch you up. You’ll be on the mend in no time.” Peter’s voice was strained and thick with tears. “Just d – don’t move your leg,” he sniffled.

“_Well what’s the point in taking the un-patented stuff if the old guy and the kid’s seen our faces, you idiots?_”

Tony bit back a hiss as Peter leaned over, his fingers fumbling for the rifle laying useless at his side. “_Well you may as well kill ‘em so we can restart or try a different quest instead_.”

“I – it’s okay,” Peter cried, his hand squeezed around Tony’s. “I – I can help.”

“_You know death isn’t permanent for them, right? Just shoot the kid and be done with it_.”

Tony looked up, seeing the handgun raising once more. The fear strangling him pulled taught, like a thick wire crushing his windpipe.

“Kid –” he rapsed.

“_Just hit somewhere vital this time, don’t leave him to bleed out all slow_.”

There was a crack, and Tony closed his eyes as he heard the whizz of something flying to his right over the tinnitus from the gunfire.

Peter didn’t even have time to cry out, his body just slumped to the side where he had been reaching for the rifle. His mouth opened as if he tried to make a sound.

“No!” Tony felt Peter’s fingers loosen in his hand before he looked up and saw the hole through the boy’s temple. “Pete! Kid, don’t –”

“_Nice shot you putz, way to leave a bigger mess for the clean-up crew_.”

Tony’s blood feels like ice in his veins, every breath hurting as he rolls Peter over, away from the rifle he’d been trying to reach.

“O – oh god,” he chokes. His voice cracks on the words. His heart is thundering in his chest and he can still see three figures shifting around in the corner of his eye, but their speech is muffled. All he can see is the kid.

“_They’ll be fine. They’ll patch ‘em up and neither of them will remember a thing come tomorrow. Don’t be such an empathetic sap_.”

“_It looks so real though, how can I not freak out at least a little?!_”

“_That’s how I was first visit too, now look at me. Stop whining. I wanna head to the barns, steal some horses_.”

The light was still reflecting in Peter’s eyes, but they didn’t look warm anymore. They were too glassy, too still. Too lifeless.

“_Sucks for him_,” someone muttered. Tony heard another crack and this time he didn’t worry about where the bullet might land.

How could he worry when the one thing he worried for was laid dead at his side?

The thing was, as the bullet tore through Tony’s chest and left the backside of his heart blown apart, he knew this had happened before. When he wilted against the hard wood, he could recall countless times he’d found himself in this position, with this kid – _his_ kid – dead, hurt. Gone.

The front door closes and Tony _knows_ that he’s lived countless lives again and again. The same day repeated endlessly until someone comes into his manor and changes things, for better or worse.

Tony knows he used to have parents. He knows his mother smelled of overpriced moisturiser and home cooked meals. He knew memories of his father hardly existed without a whiskey glass in his hand. And then they were gone, they disappeared, and he had memories of a funeral and a car crash that he truly hadn’t experienced.

Then he found the boy in the alley, and he remembered what it was like to live a life that had meaning and purpose.

Of all the things it could have felt like, the wave of realisation was abhorrent. Tony felt like he was drowning. He didn’t want the truth; he didn’t want to see these things.

Thousands of endless days one after one, always the same, save for the moments shattered by guests.

The guests.

They were despicable. Everything Tony could see made his heart crack in another direction.

Gunshots and knifes, his head being shoved underwater, tears dripping across Peter’s face, their hands torn apart, bodies laid mauled and burnt across the manor. Peter was screaming, begging, crying. Tony couldn’t do anything, he had a hole carved out of his chest, bullet spray across his back, a rope around his neck, everything he could have ever had nightmares about had happened to him thousands of times over.

They’ve been murdered in every way imaginable, Tony’s found Peter’s body too many times to count, held him as he gasped and choked on air, heaving in rapid breaths and drowning in his own blood. He’s found him in discarded wagons, tied up, bloodied, bruised. He’s heard so many screams and has never been able to _save him_.

But buried beneath all that horror and all the bloodied hands and tear-streaked faces, Tony knew there was good.

He knew it from the first moment the rain-drenched teen had dragged himself inside Tony’s carriage, felt it the first time he had seen the boy smile. He knew it with such solid prosperity and certainness because he’d lived thousands of days, and he remembers every smile, every burst of laughter that fell from the boy’s lips like sunlight.

Tony had felt his own love, his own instinctual protectiveness like it was all he’d ever known, and he had no doubt it was what he was made to do.

He’d caged Peter against his chest and held him tight thousands of times, had brushed back his hair and kissed his temple too much to remember, but he did, and he could.

Knowing he had a child that saw him as a father felt like the brightest fact in the universe they shared. Peter had clung to him in so many lives, so many situations and Tony knew he was always meant to protect him.

He had been crafted to care for that boy like no other. Nothing had the capacity to love Peter like Tony did, nobody could protect him with the same ferocity.

_“You’ve got a home, kid. You’re here.”_

But along with all that came a hellfire he could never imagine. A mechanical world beneath what he had always known as his own.

There were machines made to take him apart and weld him together again. Pads that people used to alter him, to change him. He’s had metal inside his own chest, his eyes refocused, his love redirected. An automated world that built him and repaired him after guests had broken them.

He wasn’t real. Neither was Peter. Nobody was real. They were a chorus of moving parts… gears, nanotech and technology. He had no heart, no blood and no emotions.

But he could _feel_, and _love_, and _hurt_.

And god did he ever.

How could someone – some_thing_ – with no heart feel so greatly as they held their own child and brushed his glassy eyes shut for the final time?

\----

_“This is like the fourth time this month we’ve had to fully reconstruct that kid’s skull.”_

_“I know. Who the hell decided their storyline was for general audiences?”_

_“Not sure, but if there weren’t so many guests who messed with the manor, maybe they could be.”_

_“Anyway, scrape the rest of that one’s shattered kneecap off and finish getting the spinal fluid out of that one’s clothes. They’ll be ready to get sent back up in no time.”_

\----

“Fuck,” he bolted upright, his sheets slipping from his neck to his hips. “O – oh fuck,” he heaved. His throat felt like sandpaper and his eyes were unfocused. Nails dug into his palms and left crescent shaped marks.

He remembered _everything_. The good and the bad. The love he could possess and the hell he had lived through. _Operated_ through. Because he wasn’t real, none of them were.

“Sir? Your assistant has requested I wake you for meal service.”

Tony hissed as he jolted, expecting pain but receiving none. The voice scared him even though he heard it. Every. Single. Morning.

Jarvis hesitated for a moment, waiting for Tony to respond as usual, but he didn’t. He was busy working himself through a panicky crisis.

“Pete, wh – where’s Peter?” He breathed, tugging on the first articles of clothing he could find and shoving the door open with his shoulder. “Where’s the kid?” He asked breathlessly, skidding down the hall and dodging Jarvis who hadn’t answered. His socked feet slipped on the stairs, but he wasn’t slowing down for anything.

“Tony,” Pepper said, as always, when he crossed the threshold to the dining room. “What are you –”

“I need the kid – where’s the kid?!” He demanded, rushing past her and ignoring the way she began to ask for his signature.

Everything was predictable. _Scripted_.

Tony hurried down to the entryway and turned right into the library with the large bay window.

Peter was crouched by the bottom panes, a duster in one hand and a smear of dirt across his cheek. He was shaking when Tony collapsed to the floor beside him. His eyes were wide but _alive_. So painfully alive and _afraid_.

“Mr. Stark? Wh – what… what’s happening?” The boy asked, his voice trembling as much as the rest of his body. “Th – the men… th – they shot me, I – I,” he gasped, his eyes squeezing shut as the duster clattered to the floor, discarded. “A – and I know it wasn’t the first time. Th – there’ve been s – so many! Mr. Stark, I… I’m not rea –”

Tony enveloped him.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he said softly, as reassuring as he could without having any of the answers. “I’m sorry.” Peter’s head slipped perfectly beneath his chin, just like it always had. “I couldn’t save you,” he whispered. “All those times… I – I couldn’t – I didn’t save you.” Peter’s arms curled up and around his neck, his face burying closer into his shoulder.

“I’m scared,” he stuttered. Tony held him closer.

“I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tony closed the door to his office and buried his face in his hands, tugging at his hair until the squeaking of the chair across from him signalled Peter’s arrival.

“Here,” the boy said, setting a mug beside them both. Steam rose steadily from each of them. “It’ll help, Sir. I – I think. I don’t really know.” Tony could remember every other time Peter had offered to make them a hot drink and promised it would help, like he was programmed to.

_It’ll help, Sir. It’ll help, Sir. It’ll help, Sir._

“This is insane,” he muttered. “I don’t even know anymore, kid.” When he looked up, Peter was biting his lip and playing with the mug. The look etched into his young face made Tony’s throat close up. How could a kid question everything he knew… how was it fair…? “What’s wrong?” He asked quietly, fearing the answer only slightly.

“Sir,” Peter said gently. “A – are we not…” he took a deep breath. “Are we not real?”

Tony let a long pause hang in the air for a moment. He could remember the underground. The place where he could lay still endlessly for hours with people in lab coats adjusting him – coding the very concept of himself. Those were the memories dipped in dust and hidden away in the cobwebs of his mind, buried under so much else that felt more pressing. 

He sighed, rubbing the side of his neck unsurely as he sought out an answer for the boy sitting across from him patiently.

“I don’t know,” he began. “But if this… if what I see – what I _remember_ seeing – is real, then I – I guess not.” Tony winced, picking at the wood of his desk and exhaling heavily. “I’m as lost as you are kid; I don’t know what to make of this.”

Peter nodded once, accepting the fact that both him and Tony had been plunged into unchartered waters, and neither knew how to even begin understanding things. The haunted look in their eyes said it all, from the countless deaths they could each remember to the wires and mechanics that had been running beneath their skin since the day of creation.

“I remember being made,” Peter whispered. Tony shook his head firmly, pushing those thoughts from his head. He rolled the boy’s chair closer until he could press their foreheads together.

“Don’t think about it,” he grit. “Just – we need to just forget about this, stop trying to understand something we were never meant to.” He bit his tongue, holding back the lump in his throat. Tony might have been built by someone, but he knew he had been made to protect the kid at his side.

“How can I not?” Peter asked a little hysterically, his voice cracking on the words desperately. “I – I can’t just – I can’t just forget stuff!” The teen pulled back, shifting away from where Tony had his hand rested on the back of his neck. “I – I saw you… I had t – to watch when –” his breath stuttered, the gateway crashing open as Peter stood from his chair, pointing at Tony with a wild look in his eyes. “Th – the water, I – I, I saw… I’ve seen them _d – drowning_ you, Sir.”

Tony felt hands gripping the front of his shirt, he flinched instinctively before relaxing as Peter’s face swam in front of his eyes. “I can’t ever forget that,” he mumbled. “Mr. Stark… I – I don’t want to remember, but I don’t think I can ever forget.”

Tony opened his mouth to make a feeble attempt at comforting the boy, but a creaking in the hall outside his office made him pause.

“Tony, I need these signatures,” Pepper’s voice filtered into the room. She sounded stern, as usual.

He bit the inside of his lip and mumbled for Peter to put on a coat and follow him. Pepper looked unimpressed as he stepped outside his office, scrawled his name messily on the page before tugging the boy along after him. After all, what was the point in arguing? It was only going to happen again the next day.

“We’re going out for supplies,” he excused, tightening the laces on his boots and barely pausing to wave Pepper goodbye as he stepped out onto the street with Peter at his side.

The cobblestone was coated in dewy frost in some patches, and Tony only expended some effort to sporadically dart around them as he walked quickly. “We need to talk without it being obvious that we’re… um, going ‘off-script’,” he said hurriedly.

“Uh, o – okay, Sir,” Peter stumbled alongside him, slipping on ice a few more times than Tony, but steadying himself easily. “We were always meant to build something anyway, right?” He sounded unsure, but Tony nodded curtly.

“I think everyone has these… these quests of sort, big or small, but the guests – they’re supposed to help us complete them if they choose to.” Tony shrugged, only half-knowing what he was talking about as he tried his best to pick apart snippets of memories he wasn’t actually supposed to have. That seemed to be the only feasible benefit to being conscious down under in the cold, mechanical place buried beneath their town – the memories and the remnants of information that explained some parts of this twisted world.

“Why can we remember now?” Peter asked.

“Beats me, kid.” Tony tugged them both down an alley where merchants waved bread and newspapers in their face, asking for money. “We need to find a guest, someone who knows more than us.” He shuddered at the idea of trusting people like that. More than half of the memories he had were of new men and woman entering the town and destroying lives, tearing him apart piece by mechanical piece. The fraction of memories in which a guest had been kind, adventurous and definitely not psychotic, were almost non-existent.

The types of people who visited an artificial world like his were rarely around to do much other than lawless, filthy things. Tony could remember scientists screwing his skull back together, making idle chit-chat about how many guests targeted his manor, his legacy, his _kid_.

“How are we going to do that?” Peter said, his tone full of disbelief. Clearly, he could remember the same things as Tony – the ratio of pure-hearted guests to the vile animal-like ones wasn’t balanced in their favour.

“Maybe we should start at the diners…” Tony suggested, his voice devoid of hope.

“What about the technicians?” Peter asked, keeping his voice low as they wove through a small crowd.

Tony pondered for a moment, filtering through buried memories of men in white and grey uniforms dragging injured or malfunctioning people – machines – like them, down into the mechanical-driven world below their own to make repairs.

“That means we’d have to go somewhere that people are hurt, so that the technicians even need to come out and make repairs,” Tony warned. “We’d have to stay alive, at least one of us, so that we can work out where they come from and where there could be an exit out of this place.” Peter nodded, looking more and more dedicated as they neared the diners.

“I don’t wanna be here any longer. I’d rather die and know where to escape from than live and forget what’s really happening – what we really are.” Tony blinked, looking profoundly at the boy.

“Me too,” he admitted after a moment of stunned silence. “I want out,” he hissed, his fists clenching at the thought of freedom.

“Where do people get hurt the most in this town?” Peter said rather calmly, considering the weight of his words.

“Probably the red-light district,” Tony muttered. He looked down to see Peter’s face scrunching up as he attempted to figure out what he was talking about. “Don’t think too hard about it, kid. Not like I’d let you wander around there anyway.” Tony laughed at the idea of Peter stumbling around a district like that, totally oblivious to what was going on around him.

“What? Why?” The boy squawked, huffing angrily when Tony only laughed more. “How are we supposed to work out where the technicians come from if you die in the process?”

“Keep your voice down,” Tony whispered as he picked up on a few sideway glances from people along the street. “If I remembered today after waking up, surely I’ll remember next time too.”

“Yeah, or you’ll forget everything, and I’ll be the only one who knows we’re not even real huma – _mmph_!” Tony clapped a palm over the boy’s mouth, squeezing him against his side and hurrying along as a tall man he didn’t recognise from any memories with blue eyes and blond hair stared at the two intensively.

Tony walked a few more paces before looking back to see the man leaning in and murmuring something to another man with long, dark hair. “M’t’r ‘t’rk!” Peter cried, shoving away his hand with a fond look dancing in his brown eyes. “Don’t scare me like that, I thought someone had actually heard me.”

As the two men faded into the distance when Tony turned onto another block, he swallowed gratefully. He could have sworn they must’ve heard something for a moment. His heart thundered in his chest uncomfortably, his jaw clenching in worry.

“I uh, I think I’ll walk you home now,” he decided. “Then take a carriage out to the red-light district on my own.” Peter opened his mouth, ready to protest up a storm like the bundle of energy he was, but Tony put a finger to his own lips as an indication to keep things low. “I want to know you’re safe,” he admitted when they found themselves in a quieter alley.

“And what if I want the same for you?” Peter snapped back. His nose was pink from the cold and his tattered, fingerless gloves were folded into his armpits; arms crossed against his chest petulantly. He was the most non-threatening thing Tony had ever seen.

“Then too bad,” Tony shrugged. Peter’s petulance seemed to double in size at that.

“What if I don’t wanna be by myself?” Peter tried.

“You’ll have Pepper and Jarvis,” Tony argued. “Plus, even if I _do_ die… I’m just going to wake up tomorrow in my bed. And you’ll wake up halfway through dusting the library like always.” He smiled, knowing he’d won even as he turned down a side street, artfully working his way back to the manor like he’d done it a thousand times – which he probably had.

“You’ll still be careful though, right?” Peter asked, a little more scared now.

“Of course.”

\----

Tony didn’t exactly plan on being overly careful, in fact, all he really wanted was to live long enough to catch where the technicians came from. Hopefully it would be simple.

Nothing ever really went his way, did it?

\----

“I’ve got eyes on him Steve, no kid though.” There was a pause, a brief crackle from the intercom and then a reply.

“Good, get him in a room upstairs with you. I want to see how deep this rabbit hole goes.” Natasha nodded, red curls bouncing. The time-period accurate style managed to hide the comm piece in her ear, but it also let her fit in with all the other ‘guests.’

The man walked into the bar, looking unsure of himself. Natasha was silently glad she was here right now to whisk him away, or he’d be figured out in two minutes flat.

Her heels clicked on the hardwood flooring as she sauntered over. Her nails dragged over the coat which meant wealth from his time period, and she smiled slowly.

“Evening,” she said smoothly. “Care to follow me up to my quarters?”

She hoped this would be easy, getting him up to the rooms, but if what Sam had overheard was true, this guy wasn’t coming to a place like this for the normal reasons. So, that was why she had to resort to more forceful measures.

\----

“Ah, hey lady – look, let’s just take a minute here and – ow!” Tony winced, frowning unhappily at the switchblade shoved up along the inside of his coat, pressing threateningly over his sternum. He took the stairs two at a time, disappointed that he was probably about to miss some sort of bar fight that called for repairs.

“Mr. Stark,” a male voice said as he was guided into a room, the door clicked shut behind him. “We’re here to explain everything to you, alright?” It was the blond man, from the alleyway.

“Are you guests?” He blurted out, scanning the room and trying to work out if he recognised any of the four faces. There was the woman with red hair, the blond and the brunette with long hair from the alley, and then a man with dark skin and an unimpressed frown on his face.

“Not exactly,” the blond answered.

“Well I don’t know about you, but I’d say that was a pretty bad explanation,” Tony said mirthfully. The redhead unclipped the back of her dress, and he arched an eyebrow in disbelief. He’d been operating under the assumption that this was a fake brothel – but he wasn’t so sure now.

The dress slid off to reveal a type of clothing he’d never seen before in his life. A black suit, which clung to her body, a belt with multiple small, dark looking mechanic objects hanging from it. There was what looked like a handgun, but it was so… refined looking? Like a futuristic-esque object.

“That shit is so uncomfortable,” she sighed. The blond shot her a look, and Tony was still trying to work out whatever that handgun was meant for.

“Okay, Tony we’re going to ask you some ques –”

“How do you know my name?” He demanded. “What are your names? Why am I even here?!”

“Look, this is going to take a long time to unpack, so if you want to know why you’re remembering things, and where you really are, you best shut up and listen,” the man with the grumpy looking face snapped. Tony closed his mouth indignantly.

“I’m Steve,” the blond said after the tension thickened. “She’s Natasha, this one’s Bucky,” the brunette gave an unenthusiastic smile, “and the grumpy one is Sam.” Tony frowned even more, getting antsier every second he wasn’t downstairs waiting for a barfight to break out. “I’m just going to try and… explain some things, and it’s all going to be – it’s not gonna make much sense, I’ll tell you that much.”

Tony chewed at the inside of his cheek, tapping one foot on the ground impatiently as he waited. “Years back, this… organisation, built something we call a park. You – you’re… and you’re… part of it, Tony.”

“What do you mean _park?_” He asked, ignoring the way Steve seemed to expect a much bigger reaction from him.

“You, this entire town and everyone in it were built for people’s entertainment,” the redhead said firmly.

“I was – what? How would I be entertaining?” He was getting frustrated now, the more these people were talking the less sense everything was making. Nothing was being explained, everything was getting more confusing. “None of you people are making any sense,” he snapped curtly. The brunette, Bucky, steps forward.

“Where we’re from, nothing is like this. Everything you know is fabricated and based on how the real world worked over a century ago.” Tony screwed his face up, feeling like he was being fed bitter information.

“Did you seriously just say ‘real world?’ What the hell are you people going on about?” He dragged an anxious hand through his hair, tugging at the roots of them and glaring at each of the people surrounding him. “If you expect me to believe any of this then you need to start explaining things fully.”

“This whole place was made because during this time period things were… looser – less laws, less people to enforce them. It isn’t like this anymore, that’s why this place – the park – was built.” Steve sighed, looking directly at Tony and making him feel even more detached than he already was. “So that people can pay to spend a few days doing whatever they want with no consequences.”

“So, you’re all trying to tell me that you’re basically from the future then? Is that what this is?” Tony asked incredulously, disbelief painted across his face clear as day.

“No, we’re trying to tell you that you’re living in a fabricated version of the past,” Natasha said. The four of them watched the dark-haired man carefully, seeing the metaphorical gears turning in his head.

“Y – you said people come here to do what they want ‘without consequences.’ Does that mean… a – are you saying all these guests come in and – and do things to me and th – the kid for _entertainment?_”

“Pretty much,” Natasha answered. “That’s why they tried to design you as realistically as possible, so it would feel real to them.” Tony felt sick at her words. He had been made to suffer, his entire life – this is all he ever would be, all he ever has been. Same for the boy, who deserved so much more.

“I’m sorry,” Steve interjected quietly. “Guests are told that hosts have their memories wiped, so their violence isn’t… isn’t permanently damaging to you.”

“Well that’s obviously not true,” he growled between clenched teeth. “The kid remembers everything, just like me.”

_Burning, searing pain. A pair of soft eyes crumpled in agony. Screaming – endless screams. He couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t save him._

“That’s why we’re here,” Sam said as if it were obvious. Tony didn’t look up from the floor in time to see Steve throwing the man a glance of warning.

“We’re part of a separate organisation,” Steve began. “We believed there was evidence to suggest that the people who designed the park have been lying about hosts not remembering.”

_Hosts. He was a host. He was made to host the reckless wills and wishes of violent guests that tore everything he had apart for their own pleasure._

Tony wanted nothing more to just forget everything he had just been told, but it was a simple Pandora’s box. Once it was opened, it could never be closed. Now he knew. That could never be reversed.

“All of us are undercover, our job is to find evidence that hosts can remember. Some of us are… employed by the people who run this park –” Tony looked up abruptly, staring into blue eyes with desperation clawing at his throat.

“Can you get us out?” He rasped. Steve exchanged a look with the redhead, a silent conversation.

“If you trust us to, that would be our goal. Yes.”

Tony could hear fighting downstairs. A brawl breaking out. He couldn’t care any less. These people were going to save him, save the kid. He swallowed, took a breath.

“You’ll save us?” He was met with a chorus of nods. “Even… even though you know wh – what we are?” _A machine_. “What we aren’t?” _Human, living, breathing_. “You’ll take us to the real world?”

“That’s the plan,” Natasha smirked, looking at Tony in a way that made him feel transparent. She caught the remorseful look on his face, knowing what he was thinking. “Once you two are out, and once we know more about how you operate, how you have your memories… we’ll get the rest out of here too.” Tony nodded, his throat closing up. “But it has to start with you and the boy, got it?” He managed another slow nod as he tried to work his tongue.

“Wh – what now?” He says shakily.

“You go back to the manor, talk to the kid, go to bed and we’ll be there in the morning with a team, alright?”

“Okay.” Tony said unsteadily, running a feeble hand through his hair in distress. He was going to have to tell the kid that his life was a lie. That he was built to endure, to suffer, and nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Exams loom from all around me*
> 
> Me: haha I should update that fic 
> 
> The Concept of Studying: >:o

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so the idea for anyone who might be confused (rightfully so):
> 
> \- Westworld is a park, similar to a theme park, set in the 1900's and filled with extremely realistic 'hosts' (AKA Tony and Peter).  
\- Each host/grouping of hosts has a quest of sorts which guests of the park can come and help them complete if they wish to (but majority of the time people who come to the park are just blowing off steam and committing crimes, doing evil stuff because there aren't any consequences).  
\- The owners of the park tell everyone that hosts have their memories wiped so there's never any psychological impact, but Tony and Peter malfunction or are triggered by something (explained later) that causes them to remember and consequently, there's a shit ton of impact because they've been murdered endless times.  
\- Peter was created to give Tony a purpose after his parents (also hosts) were pulled from the park's storylines.  
\- The 'underground'/'mechanical hell' Tony references is the place beneath the park where malfunctioning or damaged hosts are repaired/replaced.
> 
> If there's more confusing stuff I'll add on, let me know if there's any big '?'s' you'd like to understand more and yes - yes I am very aware that the fact I'm having to explain all this stuff in the note section probably means I haven't written this very well because I'm not confident this storyline will make much sense in any one else's head aside from my own :')
> 
> <3


End file.
